


Undermined

by BoxWineConfessions



Series: Under His Care [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Needless Keith Angst and Brooding, Physical Therapy/Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7983499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly two years ago, Keith was involved in a hit and run. Now he finds himself in a relationship with his obscenely hot physical therapist. If you asked him, he'd say that things were going good. "His moms don't hate him, and they have a king sized bed in a nice apartment" good. Thinking about popping the question good. </p><p>There's just one tiny problem. Between their friends, their families, and this incredibly cruel thing called life, he keeps finding the right moment and losing it due to circumstance. </p><p>Sequel to "Under his Care"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Undermined by Moms

**Author's Note:**

> What's the natural response to finishing a fic with a lot of plot? WRITE ONE WITH LITERALLY NO PLOT. Also, can I handle two WIP's at once? Who knows?

Now would be good, Keith thinks to himself. He does a quick mental run-down of ongoing and reoccurring arguments between them.

Smoking. Keith looks to his jacket clad arm and tries to remember if he put new nicotine patch on his arm that morning. Not that it mattered. He’s so stressed being around all eight of his adopted siblings right now he could smoke a whole pack in one go.

Communication. Shiro’s apt to hold things in and try to fix them himself because he believes that a bulk of their problems can be fixed inwardly. Eh. Working on it.

The dishes. Fuck it. Shiro’s good enough he’d actually start doing dishes regularly.

So yeah, now would be perfectly acceptable. Not perfect. Acceptable. If things went the way he wanted them to go he’d have to beg Shiro to stay quiet about it through dinner. He’d still do it though. Now would be a pretty good time.

If Edith and Rosalind’s house hadn’t been big enough to accommodate eleven people when he and Lance were growing up, it certainly wasn’t big enough to accommodate eleven adults and their growing number of spouses, children, and friends that had nowhere to go for Thanksgiving.

Keith had needed to go out for fresh air and Shiro tagged along. Naturally, they ended up by the old tire swing. What used to be the pinnacle of his formative years now sat sad and drooping from the old elm tree.

It took seconds for them to start playing around on it. For such a serious guy, Shiro could cut loose a lot easier than most people would expect.

Shiro pushes him on the swing. They push and shove until they’re both on the swing and making it go lopsided as they try to gain momentum. Before he can stop and think about how juvenile it is, Shiro has jumped out of the swing and into the pile of orange brown leaves nearby.

He almost flies off of the swing and into the creek due to the shift in weight.

Then Shiro’s goading him, “I bet you can’t jump as far as I did,” which is stupid because Keith’s been practicing this for years. Of course he can.

“I don’t bet.” Keith says back in response. “I know that you’re wrong.”

So then he’s launching himself off the swing. He doesn’t mimic Shiro’s graceful decent and landing. He certainly doesn’t land on his feet. Instead, he finds himself sliding across the damp fallen leaves, and headlong into Shiro.

He’s pretty sure Lance had broken his arm once in a manner that was very similar. He should fake a sprained arm or something just to see the look on Shiro’s face.

It quickly devolves into an impromptu wrestling match. Shiro’s probably just pissy that he did in fact jump further than him. Even tempered and fair handed Takashi Shirogane has one hell of a competitive streak.

 Yeah, now would be a fantastic time really. With Shiro all but grinding his face into the wet leaves. Being almost crushed by the fullness of Shiro’s bodyweight. He’d get all embarrassed and flustered.

Keith manages to shimmy out of Shiro’s grasp and knock him onto the ground. “Give up?” He asks.

“I don’t think it’s the appropriate time to be asking that.” He doesn’t have a ring or anything, he doesn’t really need one. He’s had some time to think this through, so why not do it?

“Hey,” A voice calls to the house. “Stop fucking around. It’s dinner time.”

Keith rolls his eyes and forces himself upward. Now that they’ve been interrupted the game doesn’t even matter. Fucking Edith. Fucking Thanksgiving.

When they enter the house it’s loud and hot and crowded. All of this is acutely amplified by the fact that Shiro’s holding on to his hand like it’s his only lifeline. It means that he’s supposed to feel comfortable. These people are supposed to be his clan. He loves them dearly, but he’d rather be anywhere else in the world right now than at one of the many folding card tables they’ve shoved together and snaked in and out of the dining room and living room.

It doesn’t exactly register right away. There’s a commotion going on, but there always is when you get three or more McClains together in the same room. There’s some yelling too, which is a staple for any family gathering even if it’s just so you can have your voice heard over all of the rest. So it takes him awhile to _get it._

“You didn’t have a ceremony?” They’re off in the living room arguing, but Keith can tell that it’s Mike talking.

“We’ve been together for 20 years. Why waste everyone’s time and money with that?”

“When did this happen?” That was undeniably Lance.

“July,” is said in response.

“July? It’s NOVEMBER now mother.” Mac, needlessly histrionic, chimes in.

“We had to wait until you were all together. We couldn’t tell you individually. Tell one, everyone else finds out, but they’re upset they didn’t hear it from us first.”

Followed up by another incredulous cry of, “MOTHER.”

Okay, so it doesn’t take him awhile. It takes Shiro nudging him in the ribs and asking, “Did your moms get married?”

And like, damn Shiro way to be more perceptive of _his_ family issues than he is.

Keith can feel the gears begin to turn in his head. It did all kind of make sense. The unplanned vacation at the end of July…Rosalind does not travel. The new bands. They’d been wearing rings for years, and he did find it suspicious when Rosalind waved a new diamond under his nose a few months ago and said, “Look what Edie got me.”

At dinner Rosalind insists that Shiro sit next to her. She hasn’t seen him since the Labor Day party and this is a huge issue.

Keith doesn’t mind. Shiro can do all the talking for him while he agonizes about having his thunder stolen by his adoptive parents.

“Congratulations to both of you,” Shiro says with a smile because Shiro is Shiro. A goddamn beacon of politeness wrapped in gold.

“It’s nothing,” but Rosalind makes sure to wave the diamond in his face anyway.

“At any rate, we had to set an example for the kids.”

Keith can feel her eyes drift to him, and then shift down the row to Lance, then Martin, and finally Mike. With most of the older McClain girls settling down (Toni being the firm exception) it was now the middle batch’s turn.

Normally he’d ignore Rosalind’s comments and purposefully pick a fight with Lance to change the course of conversation and piss her off. Now he just wants to scream at her, “I’m trying goddamnit.” But the moment is gone now, and even if there is another bit of tooth rotting tenderness between them this afternoon, it has to be shelved.

Because these kinds of things have to be their own moment or something right? You can’t ride off your parent’s coattails like that. That’s lame right? Carefully, he whips his phone out underneath the table and asks Lance.

A few minutes later a buzzing sound and a quick glance at his phone confirms that it is in fact, “Lame.”

 “Now Shiro,” Edith scoots behind them so she can sit on the opposite end of the table. “Here’s the real question. She took out a supplementary life insurance policy on me. Should I feel concerned?”

He can feel Lance’s gaze lock onto him. It lingers obnoxiously and makes him feel like he’s got a rash. “Seriously?” He mouths across the table.

“Yeah?” He mouths back with shrugged shoulders.

“Yeah?” Lance mouths back. His face is contorted into a look of semi-horror.

Keith’s eyes threaten to roll back into his head and stay there permanently because he’s so fed up with the situation. Instead, he directs his attention to the ugly “ivy and roman column” themed border that disgraces walls at the place where ceiling meets wall. It’s peeling in places from years of not having a functioning drier and water leaks from upstairs. His phone buzzes in his lap again pulling him from his detailed analysis of the shitty wallpaper situation. “I think you need to think about this more.” Lance texts back in response.

* * *

What else can there be to think about?

“Keith. Please, you made me wait all day.”

He’s got Shiro face down on ~~his~~ their giant mattress, and he’s knuckle deep in the most perfect human he’s ever met in his entire life. He’s thought about it, and there’s nothing more to think about. “Hm?” He says coyly as if he’s not quite sure he knows what Shiro’s talking about. It’s absolutely amazing, how one night Shiro can manhandle him until he has very dark very Shiro shaped thumb prints on his thighs and his hips, and the next night he can be so receptive to the point of being needy.

“Wait for what?” But he makes sure to crook his fingers in response.

It makes Shiro arch his back even more somehow, and it makes Keith throb.

“Your cock,” he says shamelessly.

“Oh,” Keith says, maintaining the tone that indicates that this is a complete surprise. He removes his fingers and readjusts so that he lines up with Shiro’s hips, parts his legs slightly, and thrusts in with one fluid motion. “Wouldn’t want to keep you waiting then.”

He wants to make it really good for Shiro. Wants to last for forever, but he can’t. Shiro’s talkative tonight and that always gets him over the edge faster than he should. “You feel incredible Keith,” and other filthy things like, “Didn’t like taking it much before I met you.”

Not to mention he’s love drunk on all the sappy shit he’s been thinking about all day. It doesn’t take long for him to come.

Luckily Shiro’s not far behind.

 “Shiro,” it’s not what he’d wanted to say earlier, but it will do. A jumbled wreck of syllables tumble out of his mouth. They’re meant to sound like, “I love you.”

Shiro must get it because he responds,” Love you too.”


	2. Undermined by Lance

The Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend, the transmission on Shiro’s Lincoln goes, and it’s so bad they can’t even get it into the shop.

“I could have it towed,” Shiro offers, but he just waves his hand in response.

“Unnecessary, I’m calling Lance and we’re taking care of this.”

Shiro deflates a little. It’s the look he gives when he feels like he’s being a burden.

“Babe, don’t be like that,” Keith starts for the closet where he keeps his home tools. He’s probably going to have to go into the shop for a few things. Like a hydraulic jack. He’s pretty sure Shiro doesn’t have one, and why would he keep one at home? “When we first met I said that I was gonna be the only person working on your car. I meant it.”

Shiro chuckles. Keith understands by now that in context and tone, this chuckle means that Shiro doesn’t quite understand why he’s so deadest on being the only one to touch the car, but he kind of thinks it’s cute.

“The pinnacle of commitment,” Shiro says with another laugh.

He says this right as Keith is reaching for his big box in the closet. The goddamn irony of the statement causes him to drop it on is toe and hurl a stream of curses.

“Everything okay in there?” Shiro asks the lower half of his body that isn’t cloaked by coats.

Keith take a moment to breathe. “Yeah. Just fine.” He heaves the box out of the closet.

“Do you need me to do anything?”

“Read my mind so that I don’t have to ask,” he thinks to himself.

“Yeah,” he lugs the toolbox over to the table, throws it open, and begins to assess what he’s got and what he needs to pick up.  “Keep your shopping date with Pidge. I really need a new pair of coveralls.”

* * *

“Lance, you busy?”

“Why?”

Keith rolls his eyes. Lance for a fact, is not busy. The snapchat he’d sent that morning of his oversized, stupid looking slippers and robe proved it. “Need help fixing a transmission.”

“Hm.” Lance pauses and the line goes silent for a moment. “Yeah, I guess. Only because I haven’t gotten a chance to ask you what the hell has gotten into your mullet brain—“

“Come over in an hour, bring your hydraulic jack” he interrupts.  “I’ve got to go to the auto parts store.”

* * *

In the end it takes well over an hour to get everything sorted. He goes to the shop, picks up the tools, auto parts store, and then back to the shop. He’d forgotten the compression tool, which was actually really important for his job.

When he got back to the house, he sees the Ducati parked out front. Keith wonders just how in the hell Lance managed to bring the hydraulic with him. Not that he blames him. Sure, it’s pretty damn cold, but in another week or so the weather will turn brutal. Today is near perfect. Cold, but not bitter, and the sun is actually out.

He rounds the corner of the house going to the back lot where Shiro parks his car.

In addition to seeing Lance’s lanky frame leaning up against the shed, he sees a familiar mop of white blue hair.

He hangs back for a moment, because this was liable to be good. For as much as Lance thought he was god’s gift to single people, Allura was….Different to say the least. Good landlord, still _different_.

“Oh my goodness. No I mean I’m like fangirling over here I can’t believe it.” 

Allura covers her mouth and laughs. “You’re being too kind.”

“No seriously, Shiro lent me a copy of your first novel and then I read all of your web serials you’re amazing.”

That was absolutely, 100% the truth. Lance has always been a closet Sci-Fi nerd, and Allura’s writing was right up his alley. Sci-fi with a twist of fantasy.

“And like, you’re gorgeous too.”

Okay, that’s enough. He’s stepping in. He expects so much better from Lance now. He’s seen the man in action for years, and his skill level is far above this…

“Sorry I took so long Lance.” He waves at his landlady. “Allura.”

She claps her hands together and her face is enveloped with a warm smile. She’s like Shiro that way. She doesn’t just smile with her mouth. It’s an entire affect thing. The eyes, the lines of her face, all of it smile at him. “Keith! I understand Shiro’s car is not in working condition.”

“Nah,” from the corner of his eye he can see Lance is scowling at him for butting in. “Transmission’s gone. Hopefully it’s just that. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to this one. I really like it.”

“Indeed. It is a fine car,” She agrees. “I suppose I’ll let you two to it.” She picks up her own shopping bags that litter the concrete path that leads from the edge of the yard to the back door. “But Lance, if you want, email me. I’ll send you a free copy of my newest project.”

Lance’s expression morphs once more, he goes from scowling at Keith to doing that thing where he’s trying to be charming, and it’s not exactly working. “Thanks.”

She hasn’t been in the house for more than a few seconds before Lance begins what can be best described as a mini-tirade. He’s got questions stacked on questions, and Keith can’t do a thing to get a word in edgewise.

It’s exhausting.

“Is she seeing anyone? Is she into dudes? Specifically cool dudes?”

“Lance.”

“Also, what’s your problem? You can’t just randomly decide one day you’re going to propose to your boyfriend.”

“Lance.”

I’m not telling you to not propose to Shiro. I like Shiro. I’m saying that you clearly have not put any thought into this what so ever.”

What Lance is saying isn’t wrong. It doesn’t make him any less upset about the words that are spilling out of his mouth.

“Lance,” he says it again this time a bit more forcefully. “First of all, you can’t just date all of Shiro’s female friends.”

Lance’s mouth hangs open in shock.

Everybody knew that he and Pidge wouldn’t last very long. Lance went after people with a modicum of self care and desire to perform personal grooming. Pidge didn’t have that. Pidge was a bonafide genius with little interest in fast bikes.

Luckily, their split was totally amicable. Like he’s pretty sure they go shopping together whenever Pidge needs to go somewhere that requires anything above casual dress.

“Just like, think about it first please.” He pulls the keys to Shiro’s car out of his pocket, opens up the car, and pops the hood. “C’mon let’s get this fucker jacked up so we can see what’s going on down there.”

Lance procures the jacks from his oversized rucksack. “You’re not getting off so easily. I can talk while I work.”

“This is news to me,” Keith deadpans. He gets some cardboard from the shed so when they need to get under the car, they don’t have to lie directly on the grass. He then gets to work on jacking the car up. “In response to your question,” Keith begins after a long pause. “It’s not random. I have thought about it. A lot.”

Lance makes a disapproving, “hmph,” sound that suggests that he’s not impressed with the response. “Do you have a ring?”

“No.”

“Do you wanna elope like mom and mom or do you want to have a ceremony?”

“Whatever Shiro wants I guess.”

“Do you even know if Shiro will say yes? Have you talked about marriage?”

“Concretely? I know I’m on his life insurance 75% and the other 25% goes to Pidge…And he’s expressed concern that if he ever got sued for malpractice and we were married, my assets could be at risk.”

Keith ducks under the car to do a visual check for other potential issues with the car. Hoses, belts, the works. He doesn’t have to be looking at Lance to know he’s rolling his eyes at him. He can feel it.

“Kay,” Lance continues. “Possible communication issues aside, have you ever considered something with a little finesse? Something a bit better than just saying, “hey let’s get hitched.”

“I would never say “hitched.”’ Luckily, everything else looks good from down here. Still, fixing transmissions was an awful job. It was going to be a long afternoon. “Why don’t you make yourself useful up top and start getting that rebuild kit in order?”

“I’m just sayin.” He can hear Lance tearing into the packaging. “Not that I watch a lot of over the top proposals on youtube or anything but, it’s no secret that Shiro’s a sap. If he was doing the asking, you know it’d be…” He pauses for a moment as if he’s trying to find the right word. “Planned. You know, you could do something classy.”

“But,” Keith hauls himself from up under the car. “I’m the one who’s decided to do the asking.”  

“Ugh,” Lance has taken up a socket wrench and has started to get at some of the main bolts on the transmission. “I’m just excited for you dude.”

Keith leans in to stabilize the part while Lance does the loosening. “I’m thinking I’ll just mail a post card to his office or something.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Text message…”

“Literally the worst.”

* * *

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice is soft and gentle like always, but the soft edge of concern is not lost on him.

Shiro’s returned after several hours laden with shopping bags implying that he’s returned home with a lot more than new coveralls for Keith and a new pair of dress shoes for himself. He doesn’t mind the impulse purchases though. Among them are a handful of sweaters in crimson and charcoal, in just his size.

“What happened today? Your posture is strained.”

Of course Shiro would notice within literal seconds of coming back home. They’d managed to get the car fixed, but there was a slight incident with dropping the new transmission in. Keith definitely pulled a muscle in his shoulder while they were doing it.

“I think I just pulled something. Not that big of a deal.”

Suddenly, Shiro’s in his space. The shopping bags are abandoned and he’s wrapping his arms around him from behind. “It’s kind of a big deal. You did something so nice for me, and got hurt in the process.”

Keith leans back into the touch. “You could make it up to me. If you rubbed on it for a bit.” Shiro’s massages were things of beauty. He knew exactly where to touch to get knots to come undone. After a thorough backrub from Shiro, it was like his whole perspective changed for a bit. Lance was less irksome, social interactions were less confusing.

Shiro’s fingers gently prod at his right shoulder. The contact stings a little, but it also feels good. He leans into it. “It needs heat first. Take a shower?”

Maybe he’s just imagining things because Shiro’s breath is hot in his ear and the scent of his aftershave is enveloping him. Maybe his judgement is just clouded because most of his other backrubs end in sex. Either way, he shudders at the way Shiro says it.

Keith enters their bedroom approximately 25 minutes later, his hair dripping from the shower and wearing little more than a pair of faded boxers that have seen better days.

Shiro’s haul has been cleared away, and Keith finds him sitting on the center of their bed typing away on his laptop. He doesn’t make eye contact right away, but he pats the mattress beside him. “Lay down.”

Keith obeys. The hot water helped, but the dull rolling ache still persists.

“Okay,” Shiro snaps the laptop shut and rolls over to his nightstand. He procures small bottle of massage oil.

“Hm,” Keith hums in response.

Shiro’s initial touches are gentle. He prods at the area inquisitively as if he’s still trying to figure out the best method. It reminds him of the six torturous weeks he was Shiro’s patient. Gradually, Shiro’s touches become stronger. He kneads at the muscle with the palm of his hand in a way that is firm, but not painful. “Doesn’t hurt?”

“Hurts in a good kind of way,” Keith says.

Shiro alternates between circles with his palm and slow lines upward. He can feel the tension escape with each touch.

After awhile the pain all but fades, and nothing but the wonderful feeling of Shiro’s palm on his muscles remain.

Then Shiro does something that makes his stomach do flip flops. He shifts from a seated position beside keith on the bed to straddling his hips. He keeps the bulk of his weight on his knees. Keith knows that this position means he can get to more of his muscles.

It often leads to other things.

“Thank you, for working on the car,” he says as he uses open hands to rub at both of Keith’s shoulders simultaneously. He carries so much tension there, in the place where neck meets shoulder.

“Thanks for buying me sweaters,” It’s the most coherent thing he can say while Shiro drags a weighted palm down the length of his spine.

“We have to take care of each other,” Shiro’s hands return to his shoulder. Keith can feel him shifting upward. He nips a few times at the lobe of Keith’s ear.

Keith leans into the touch, but it’s gone before he knows what’s going on.

“Keith, I’m sorry,” Shiro’s breath is hot and heavy in his ear, and he sounds anything but. “I know you’re injured, but I want you…”

There’s an implied question there. “Can I have you?” Shiro should know that the answer is a resounding yes. That he’d feel weird if Shiro gave him a massage and it didn’t end this way.

He manages to choke out an unrefined, “Of fucking course.”

Before he knows it, Shiro’s pulling down his underwear and there’s more oil being poured on his ass and his thighs implying that Shiro was going to drag this out and make him beg…Whether it was for his cock or just the privilege of coming or both, he had no idea.

Shiro’s hands are on him again. This time he rubs deep slow circles into his ass before moving down to his thighs. Shiro traces down to his calves but he doesn’t really give a fuck about that.

“Shiro.” It’s pathetic that he’s getting worked up so fast, but the touch on his ass and the bite on his ear was a promise of much better things to come, and he can’t stop thinking about it.

“Patience Keith,” Shiro’s hands rest lightly on his hip. “It feels so much better when you enjoy the ride.”

Shiro’s hands go back to kneading his cheeks. Then, as suddenly as the contact began, it disappears. He feels them being parted and then. “Oh, my god,” escapes his mouth before he can even contain it.

Shiro’s tongue. _There._

Shiro works at the rim licking and kissing lightly. Then he tests his entrance with his tongue a few times, teasing lightly without applying any real amount of pressure.  

“Shiro, you are too fucking good.” It comes out ragged and with way too many syllables. He can’t help it. It feels so good.

“You haven’t even seen good yet Keth,” Shiro rasps into his thigh. “I’m going to get you ready with just this.”

His mouth goes back to his hole. He begins applying pressure there in earnest and making good on his promise. The feeling of Shiro’s mouth is too much and not enough all at once. Shiro usually likes to work him open with his fingers. The man has got a _thing_ for fingering, both giving and getting it.  

He’s used to having more pressure there while Shiro stretches him out and drags his fingers downward hitting his prostate dead on. His mouth is a constant tease. It supplies none of the immediate gratifications of fingers or a cock, but still keeps him keyed up and turned on to the point that he can’t see straight.

“Shiro, please.” He starts with that because it really gets Shiro going.

He’s only met with harder thrusts of the tongue in response.

“I’m ready,”

Thus beginning the heated dialogue they often engage in when they’re having sex. Keith begging for it any way how, and Shiro teasing him endlessly in response. It goes this way even when Keith tops.

He’s about to stop trying to verbally tease Shiro into fucking him. It rarely if ever works. The last honest plea fall from his lips, “Shiro, I need you,” and almost as abruptly as it began, Shiro pulls away.

Keith moves so that his knees are folded up under him.

Shiro slicks himself with lube and moves into place.

“Wait,” he turns on his knees so he can see Shiro. Shiro returns his gaze with confusion. Yes, he was just begging for it, and yes he did just stop that process, but…”I want to kiss you first.”

Shiro’s lust drunk expression melts. “Of course.” Shiro moves behind him, pulling him up so that he’s standing on the bed on his knees. The kiss is softer and less heavy with need than their previous actions. The tenderness doesn’t match with the fire and passion in which Shiro enters him while they kiss.

It flares up something deep and needy within himself. Like he needs Shiro, but he has Shiro. It’s absolutely overwhelming, and he knows that at this point Shiro hasn’t even began to bring him over the edge.

* * *

 

Shiro has the overwhelming and undeniable need to be cuddled relentlessly after sex. Keith is more than happy to oblige. It’s usually something that brings him a great amount of internal peace.

Unfortunately, right now that’s not the case. Shiro was able to make pulling a goddamn muscle infinitely less awful to the point of being special. Maybe Lance was right. He needed to put some goddamn effort into this if he was really gonna pop the question.


	3. Undermined by Booze (and Pidge)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys writing this was so therapeutic because so far this week my laptop broke, i'm trying to move across the city, and my research program suxxx so I'm having a career crisis. Anyways, never ever will Shiro + Japanese marriage proposals get old to me. I will use that troupe in every fic I write til the day I die....or stop writing for the fandom.

The company Christmas party had to be moved up a few days this year because of their impending vacation. 

 

He’d spent Thanksgiving with the McClains, so Keith had agreed to spend Christmas with his family that year. Nevermind the fact that his parents decided to spend their golden years halfway across the globe in his mom’s hometown of Hakone. 

 

So yes, the Altea PT company party was moved up. A few weeks. Never mind the fact that the yearly “Christmas Party,” tradition consisted of him taking Pidge out for dinner at a slightly more upscale place than their usual lunchtime haunts: cafes with stale pastries, fast food joints, and delivery subs. This year she’d chosen an Italian place. The food had better be good because cocktails run $10 a piece.

 

And Pidge is on her second. 

 

“Wait wait wait,” Pidge says in between bites of crusty bread dipped in olive oil. “My boss,” she points her finger at him over the table. “Major Doctor Shirogane,” She’s started waving the bread around wildly like it’s a sparkler on the 4th of July. “Decorated war hero, and overall badass,” 

 

At that comment he has to raise his eye, because badass? No. He had to have Keith kill a spider in the shower for him that morning. 

 

Still, the display Pidge is making is worth the false assumptions. At a certain point the bread waving becomes so exaggerated that she knocks the glass shaded lamp that hangs over the booth with her closed fist. It knocks loose dust and dirt and their cocktails are ruined. 

 

“Are too afraid to propose to your own boyfriend?” She punctuates the statement by cramming the rest of the garlic bread into her mouth. 

 

“Fear is not the correct term.” Nevertheless he shrinks down in the booth. If he’s scared of anything it’s of Pidge. Specifically, Pidge after 1.5 cocktails. There’s nothing that makes that 5’2”  nightmare worse than a slightly elevated BAC. She knows his deepest secrets, and has nothing to gain off of exploiting them other than intrinsic gains. It’s a dangerous combination. “Keith is a particular person. These things must be handled,” he wrings his fingers together for a lack of better words. “Delicately.” 

 

“Keith is a lil’ bitch,” Pidge snorts. 

 

For a moment Shiro’s jaw hangs open in indignation. 

 

“Oh my god get over it you know what I mean.” She pushes her glasses up her nose. “So it’s like…you know he’s gonna say yes, but you want to do it in a way that won’t make your little motorcycle man uncomfortable.” 

“Yes. Exactly.” Shiro can’t handle these moments of clarity interspersed with nonsense from Pidge. 

 

“Right okay,” She pushes the breadbasket to the side with one sweeping motion of her forearm. “So, you’re gonna get the biggest most ostentatious rock you can find and take him down to the light display. Get down on one knee...Oh yeah in front of a shit ton of people and then be like, “Eh?” She shrugs her shoulders. 

 

“Exactly,” Shiro says as he stabs what’s left of the ice in his drink with his straw. It probably has dust in it, but for the price he’ll risk it. 

 

The waitress comes back with their pre-dinner salads and for that Shiro is grateful. Pidge needs something on her stomach….Mostly for his sake. 

 

“I’ll do it while we’re in Japan.” 

 

“Around your parents?” Pidge grimaces. 

 

“No not around my parents.” Keith would probably hate being put on the spot like that. “Like they live in a tourist trap town up in the mountains. There’s ample opportunity to get away and for things to be nice.” 

 

Pidge squints at him like she’s unimpressed. “You sound like him you know.” Then her voice goes all exaggerated. “Uh my parents live on the mountains I’ll figure something out.” For good measure she pushes her hair in front of her eyes. “I’m bored talking about you and your cutsey boyfriend problems,” she decides matter of factly. “Tell me when you’re getting those letters of recommendation done for my school apps.” 

 

Shiro cringes. They were definitley, totally on his list for yesterday...And they obviously didn’t get done. Here’s the inherent problem with a non-terminal Master’s degree. They’re non-terminal, so as soon as you get your shit figured out you’re trying to crank out a thesis and worry about doctoral applications at the same time.

 

“Tomorrow between appointments you’re forcing me to finish it. Okay?” 

 

“I think I can manage that.”  Now it’s Pidge’s turn to go after the final drops of liquid in her glass. She pushes the straw around the ice cubes and gets the very last bit. “Can I stay at your apartment while you’re gone? My roommates are giving me a rash.” 

 

Shiro tries to hide the budding mortified expression that he can feel spreading across his face. He’s let Pidge do this before, and it’s not inherently awful. Pidge does the dishes, and takes out the trash. Everything is fine on the surface. 

 

She just so happens to leave little things out of place. There’ll be crumbs in the perfectly made bed, or the internet will be shut off due to “suspicious” activity. Then again, he has the hardest of times saying no to the slightly drunk woman before him. 

 

“Yeah, I’ll give you the spare before we leave.” 

 

She pumps her fist in victory. “Oh, one more thing.” She closes her eyes for a moment as if she’s trying to gather her thoughts, regrets the line of conversation, or both. “Not to go  _ back _ to this issue, but can I be your best man?” 

 

Shiro stops and thinks about it for a moment. Keith probably wouldn’t go for a big ceremony or anything...Not to mention if they did go that route, “I have a brother.” Because brother’s get first pass at that kind of thing...right? 

 

Pidge waves her hand dismissively. “Yeah, but who do you really want to do it?” 

 

Probably his brother. Pidge could officiate or something. She’d like that. 

 

The waitress makes another round and Shiro orders Pidge another ten dollar cocktail because it’s Christmas time, and why not?

 

* * *

Pidge talks him into getting another cocktail for himself too. Then they end up down at the corner bar when he decides that every ten dollar cocktail is a meal or an activity that he can’t do while they’re visiting his parents. 

This too is part of the tradition. Pidge getting tipsy off of a few drinks, and then (successfully) trying to bring him down to her level. The company party doesn’t end until both of them are sloppy. 

* * *

“Excuse me?” 

“I want you to make miso soup for me every day,” Shiro says it again and he can feel his expression melt into a big stupid grin that’s too big and too pronounced. 

“You’re drunk,” Keith stops trying to unlace Shiro’s boot and shimmies up the other man’s body which currently acts as 200 pounds of dead weight on their mattress. Keith kisses him on the mouths. It’s sloppy and kind of open mouthed, exactly the kind of kiss a sober person gives their partner. 

“Nah,” Shiro lies through his teeth because why should he even tell the truth when Keith is looking at him like that. His brows are tightly knit and his eyes are squinted like he’s reading print that’s too small.  “Just had you drive me home because I needed you.” 

“Oh, is that right?” Keith cocks an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you.” 

The fingertips brushing against his stomach say otherwise, but somewhere past the booze addled parts of his brain, he remembers that Pidge did spill a drink on him, and he probably reeks right now. Regardless, Shiro leans into the touch. 

“C’mon Shiro,” Keith ribs him playfully with his elbow. “A little cooperation would be nice. Don’t you wanna wear your nice flannel jammies?” 

“I could think of something better to do than wear pajamas,” he says as he places one hand on either side of Keith’s hips then writhes around a bit on the sheets some more. 

“I don’t know man, you’re just tipsy enough to be the least helpful person ever.” 

Shiro rolls his eyes. “The moon is beautiful tonight.” It’s  _ so  _ easy to do when he’s drunk and Keith has no idea what he’s saying. “  あなたは毎日私のために味噌汁を作るのだろうか? “ He reinterates the thing about miso again because he finds it hilarious. His father used that line on his mother and somehow it actually worked. 

“It’s a new moon out tonight dumbass,” Keith says, his tone is becoming increasingly unamused.

“You need to learn this stuff.”

So Shiro has one coherent thought and actually goes along with Keith’s actions, and lets him strip off his shirt and replace it with his Pajamas. Keith always makes fun of him for them, and says that he looks like an old man. They’re flannel, with a black and white houndstooth pattern. Keith makes fun of him, but never misses the chance to put them on when he goes downstairs for coffee during a long morning spent in bed. 

“I’ll get right on getting a coherent grasp of an extremely difficult language in two weeks.”

He decides that he’s a really lucky guy. Lucky to get called dumbass by Keith for getting drunk on a Thursday night. Lucky to have someone help him out of his arm and into his old man pajamas. Lucky to have someone who is  _ so  _ oblivious to these dated and culturally bound proposals. He’s glad, because he does want a chance to do it properly when he’s in the right frame of mind. 

One more, for good measure. “ あなたが私と同じ墓に入るようにしたいですか” This one’s morbid and means, “do you want to be buried together,” but he’s not going to say that one out loud because it’s more obvious than the rest. 

His Japanese has gotten really bad. His Father will not be pleased. 

“Alright you big baby, put your pants on. I will not be held responsible for putting my cold feet on you in the middle of the night.” 

Shiro complies and wriggles into the pants. He flops back onto the bed and drags Keith down with him. Despite what he says, the other man is warm and inviting. 

“What’s wrong?” Now that the daunting task of changing clothes is done and Keith is finally laying next to him, he can feel something heavy between them. He’s pretty sure it’s not being tipsy or being difficult in changing clothes. 

Keith lets out a sigh and turns over so that he’s facing Shiro. He tucks his head under Shiro’s chin automatically. “I’m kind of nervous about meeting your parents.”

“They’ll like you,” Shiro decides after a moment. Although he can understand to a degree, it’s just Mom Dad and Ryu. It’s nothing in comparison to meeting your boyfriend’s parents  _ and _ their eight siblings. “They’ll like you because I like you,” he says firmly. “And if you know, it’s just not comparable to your family, we can take the train to Hakata and see the extended family. All the first and second cousins.”

“Oh god,” Keith wails into his chest. “No. God no. Absolutely not.” 

Shiro laughs in response. 

“Go to bed you drunkard.” 

 


	4. Undermined by Ryu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro vs yukata is based on a very true story about my own attempt to squeeze myself into a yukata while sightseeing. One, maybe two more chapters ya'll.

“Oh,” Keith says letting the ribbon in his hand fall to the side as he catches sight of his partner. “Wow,” and then he holds the back of his hand up to his mouth to stifle a laugh because he  _ knows  _ for a fact that if Shiro saw it would piss him off like no other, but he can’t help it because it’s too good. 

 

Shiro stands flat footed against the tatami mats desperately trying to close his own yukata. Every attempt ends with him either getting it successfully closed around his chest, but leaving his lower half exposed, or closing it around his lower half and leaving his muscular chest exposed. 

 

“I’ll just wear my regular clothes.” 

 

“Oh, no absolutely not.” Keith pads over to the telephone and reaches for the receiver. “It will look weird if I’m wearing it,” he gestures to the purple yukata joined around his waist with a thin green obi. “And you’re not. So do you. I’m going to call and see if they have bigger ones.” 

 

In the end they don’t have a larger yukata for Shiro to wear, so they call Shiro’s mom to see if they have anything he might be able to wear...Thing is Shiro’s much, much more muscular than his dad, so they don’t. Shiro’s forced to wear a t-shirt under the yukata much to his disappointment. 

 

“I shouldn’t even do this tourist-y stuff,” Shiro mumbles underneath his breath as he tries to tie his obi back into place. 

 

“Then I couldn’t do all this touristy stuff.” Keith fires right back. At this point, he’s willing to do all of the touristy stuff in the word. Being a tourist meant you were out of place, had a certain allowance for stupid behavior. He wanted that right now so badly. 

 

The past few days have been filled with confusion and embarrassing moments for him. Hakone is a tourist town, and he  _ looks  _ an awful lot like everyone here. And when he climbs out of Shiro’s mom’s car at 7:30 in the morning at the Konbini parking lot to get a pack of smokes and someone asks him for directions in perfect Japanese and he  _ can’t _ respond, it bothers him in a strange way. Like he’s never really thought about his ethnic identity because he’s always lived with people that look different from him. Here? He blends in until someone discovers that he doesn’t belong. 

 

He got scolded by the concierge to not wear the little foam slippers they provided on the tatami. They’re only for outside of the room. Which is completely strange because Shiro’s parents had an extra pair of slippers for him to wear in the house. 

 

Maybe, just maybe he’s taking some kind of sick pleasure in Shiro’s momentary discomfort. 

 

In all honesty, Shiro looks pretty damn good in cheap cotton yukata, and it’s unfair that the mass produced garment that adorns most of the tourists staying here looks so particularly extraordinary on him. He’s determined to keep him in it...until it’s time to get him out of it.  

 

Not that he was 100% certain the extent of what he could do once it was time to get Shiro out of it. Keith was too afraid to pack any “supplies,” before their trip so he honestly didn’t know what, if anything was going down on this trip. He promptly decided he’d leave it up to Shiro to find a bottle of lube that abided by TSA standards; if he wanted to bring one. He wouldn’t know because this is the first night into the trip they’ve managed to steal away from Shiro’s parents. 

 

Shiro’s dad has an old fat housecat named Toki who makes the downstairs floor boards creak when he walks. They haven’t even risked kissing too loudly in the past four nights. At the very least, Toki is good for something. Keith practices his japanese on him each morning, “ タバコください”  _ cigarettes please  _ before he runs down to the corner store to get some. 

 

Nevertheless, he was beyond pleased when Shiro said they’d be spending a few days at a Ryokan less than a mile away from his parents house for a few days. 

 

 “C’mon. Let’s go to dinner.”  Keith counterintuitively flops back onto the bed that, despite Shiro promising was a double looks extremely small even by his ‘constant need for spooning’ standards. 

 

He thinks he’s mostly over the jetlag, and he’s mostly able to use chop sticks, and he’s pretty sure Shiro’s parents, brother, and brother’s girlfriend don’t hate him. But all of those things are draining, and he really just wants to melt into the mattress right now. 

* * *

Keith was going to die. There was no two ways about it. He was going to die. First the snow crab miso, then Shiro’s dad kept refilling his sake cup. Now? Drunk and full he was sprawled into a large outdoor hot spring with nothing but stinky sulfur water between him and Shiro. 

 

He was going to die a drunk sleepy mess, and it was wonderful. He can feel the inky blackness press gently at the corners of his vision. 

 

“Keith.” He can feel Shiro elbowing him gently, but he can’t bring himself to do anything about it. Too busy dying a happy man and all.  “Keith.” He can hear Shiro get up, and he shudders at the loss of contact. “Come on you need to stand up and get out of the water for a little bit.” 

 

“Hm?” 

 

“Come on.” Before he can respond Shiro’s got his arm around his shoulder and he’s picking him up one handed, probably in a masculine display designed to prove that he totally does not care about having to wear a shirt under his yukata. 

 

Even though a very well endowed German girl named Gerda explained over dinner that she too had to do the same thing because here chest was too big.  

 

“Shiro,” He whines in protest as Shiro lifts him up out of the water, and he’s shocked back to reality by the cold winter air around them. 

 

A few more seconds out in the cold and he feels like a bathroom mirror being wiped clean of fog. Slowly all the little details that had gone missing when he was thick and hazy in the water become clearer. Like the fact that they’re stark fucking naked in the mountains in winter. Or, that he’s on the other side of the world with Shiro while he does it. Or, that Shiro is nothing but tight compact muscle beneath him and fuck that’s good. 

 

“You drank too much at dinner,” Shiro notes. Keith blinks his eyes open slowly as everything comes back into focus. 

 

“I didn’t drink that much.” He says as screws his eyes up watching snowflakes fall onto Shiro’s skin. 

 

“I know, but food, booze, bath. Doesn’t mix.” 

 

“The waitress kept bringing stuff. Your dad kept pouring.” 

 

“It’s rude to let someone near you’s glass go empty,” he explains. 

 

Keith buries his face into Shiro’s chest to hide the fact that he’s rolling his eyes. Passing food between chopsticks, blowing your nose, filling glasses, tying obi. Everything here was too nuanced for someone like him who just wanted to scoot by on the bare minimum of effort. 

 

“Wanna get out?” Shiro asks presumably when he finds it nigh impossible to keep his eyes open. 

 

“How much did you pay for this? For the private one?” Because he knows that there’s a public one here too, but Shiro just sort of assumed that this would feel more comfortable for him. He was right. 

 

“Enough,” which was Shiro’s way of saying, “a lot.” 

 

“I’m good,” Carefully, he edges one foot out of the bath, pries himself fully from Shiro’s grasp,  and then another. He feels like he can relate to the crab hot pot on a visceral level right now, steamed and set out for display. 

 

“Seriously,” he adds when he feels Shiro’s eyes on him. 

 

But if this doesn’t fix it, nothing will. He walks over to the edge of their bathing area and reaches down into the thin layer of snow that covers the ground. It’s next nothing despite the fact that little flakes have been coming down all day. He smashes one small handful of snow onto his chest, then he gathers up another handful and puts it on his face. Between that and the cold air, he feels immediately better, as if someone shook all the warmth and drunkenness from him at once.

 

“More noodles please,” he says as he hops back into the stone bath and sends the fragrant water billowing outward and onto the concrete floor of the bathing area. “That’s what I feel like. Noodles in broth,” he says matter of factly to SHiro’s questioning gaze. 

 

“Get it together Kogane, geeze,” Shiro says with a chuckle and leans into him when he finally sinks back down into addictive yet near scalding water. Then after a moment he says, “If you’re noodles I’ll be fish cakes.” 

 

“You’ll be a fucking ear of corn is what you’ll be you corny bastard,” Keith snarks back. But oh fucking man, Lance might’ve been right and he might not have thought to really correct any of it in the month or so since he got this hairbrained idea. He had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t even know what Shiro’s thoughts were on the name thing. He knows that Rosalind has no less than like, fifty thousand hyphens after her name by now, but he’s never really thought about it until literally the night before he planned to do it. 

 

Whatever. 

 

He brushes the uncertainty off for what feels like the millionth time. Instead he leans into Shiro and admires the pinpricks of stars that dot the jet black sky, cause all of this is real fucking romantic and he should probably enjoy it instead of being such an insecure bastard. 

 

“Shiro?” He asks after what feels like a very long time. 

 

“Hm?” Shiro responds dreamily as if he’s finally succumb to the booze and the heat and the food. 

  
“You’re pruny,” he says and gestures to the hand that’s locked onto his knee. 

* * *

Keith doesn’t really know Ryu that well. They’d just met a few days ago. Keith doesn’t know much about him other than he’s an ears nose throat doctor who lives in California, is two years older than Shiro, has a  girlfriend  fiance named Ami. Oh yeah, and that he’s a fucking deadman.

 

It’s a shame because him and Shiro seem to really get along. Not to mention he seems to be a legitimately nice person. Picked him and Shiro up from the train station so they wouldn’t have to ride the bus an hour up onto the mountain. 

 

The Shirogane’s met them for breakfast at the hotel and immediately Keith knew something was up. Both of them were glowing. Ami was flashing a ring, and Ryu explained that he’d wanted to wait until Christmas day, but he just couldn’t do it. 

 

Keith makes several rapt decisions while Shiro’s mom is mystified by Ami’s ring and Shiro’s dad is pretending to care, but would clearly rather start eating. He’s still fucking doing it today. He’s got it all planned out, and it’s still gonna be goddamn magic because that’s what Takashi Shirogane deserves. 


	5. Undermined by Shiro

“Gimme some money,” Keith says in a tone that he hopes sounds disinterested. When you’re almost thirty you’re not supposed to be so excited about little plastic toys in capsules, but here he is in front of a gachapon dispenser he hasn’t seen before with the weirdest little figures. “I’m out of 100 yen coins,” he adds as an afterthought to justify his request.

After breakfast, they’d hiked halfway up the mountain to get to the ropeway. The ropeway took you up, up, up Mt. Hakone, and if you were lucky you got a view of Fuji between the clouds. Keith had no freaking idea whether or not the weather was good enough to see the mountain, but he knew that up there, there was a small shrine and it would be a good place to…You know…Ask Shiro.

Their journey was stalled by a brief stop at a café for coffee and crepes, cause here’s the thing. When you’re Doctor Shirogane, pure muscle and smiles, you have to eat every few hours because of your metabolism sent from heaven.

“All right,” Shiro digs into his pocket without question and fills Keith’s hand with coins. “Annpann man though? You know he’s for kids right?” Shiro flashes him a smile that says, “I know you don’t care. I don’t care ether.”

Keith shuffles over to the gachapon dispenser. He inserts one coin, then two.

And then…

Holy. Fuck.

Is that what he thinks it is?

Suddenly he’s acutely aware that Shiro is right beside him at the dispenser. _Looking at him_. _Like that._ Which indicates that he’s not hallucinating, and yes, that is a ring in the palm of his hand. He can’t register much more than that it is a ring, and it’s vaguely gold, and Shiro slipped it to him alongside a handful of change.

It’s low key, subtle, flawlessly un-weird, and totally uncalled for. Seriously, where did Shiro get off?

No.

No.

Nope. He planned for this. This was his thing.

Rosalind, and Ryu and god herself could steal this from him, but there’s no way in hell Shiro of all people was.

“I honestly didn’t expect you to react this negatively,” Shiro deadpans. He looks….Like he’s ripped out his heart and stomped on it. Oh. Oh. Apparently he’d said most of that “uncalled for-where does he get off…No, no no,” crap out-loud. Crap.

“Look,” he clenches the ring in his fist. He’s gotta talk fast. “For all intents and purposes, yes. But for right now? Like for the next 45 minutes now? I need you to wait.”

Shiro open his mouth, but nothing comes out. He looks confused and exhausted at the same time. Keith wants to have no sympathy. Welcome to his life for the past month. Realistically, it almost breaks him.

“Keith you have to understand _how_ compelling of an argument you’re making here.” The barely present tinge of anger in his voice isn’t lost on Keith.

“Please?” Keith can feel the pinpricks of tears at the corner of his eyes because he’s _ruining_ all of this. For himself, and more importantly for Shiro. At the same time he wants this so bad. He wants to be the one to ask, not only because it’s been such an ordeal the past month, but his whole life really. He’s never wanted to be close to someone like he craves Shiro.

“Okay,” Shiro breathes.

At that moment he can feel the tears streaming down his face. He’s also feeling a totally dignified stream of snot slip from his nose down his upper lip. Fantastic.

Keith thought he understood the meaning of tension. Sitting at the bar right next to your ex’s new fling. Staring down Rosalind neither of you were willing to bend on an issue. That awkward moment where Lance strike’s out, and his target takes a moment to get it together before brushing him off.

None of it compares to the brick like feeling in his gut as he drags Shiro through the ropeway line and onto the tram.

The tram is jam packed with other tourists who wanted to see the Mt. Fuji. In the compact car he’s placed directly in front of Shiro. He can lean into the expanse of his stomach and chest. Keith can’t fight the dense feeling of guilt rise up in his stomach. He’s being selfish. If this was supposed to be about Shiro…He’d like to think it was, he would’ve just put the ring on and said yes at the café.

If he has a cold chance in hell of making this right they’re not gonna make it to the shrine.

Keith’s ring is silver. He begrudgingly made it out of silver from a silver dollar after Lance told him he needed something. After Edith carefully plucked something from her collection of silver coins, silver certificate bills, and other monetary oddities. She let him have it with the expectation he’d bring her back a few 100 and 500 yen coins.

It was amazing what he could do with a shitton of hammering and a drill.

“I’m sorry,” his voice is low. With his back pressed to Shiro’s chest, he hope he can hear. The other tourists are scrambling towards the cabin window desperately trying to snap photos of the mountain. I just wanted to do this for so long.” He grabs for Shiro’s hand and pushes the ring into his palm with the same combination of care and nonchalance that Shiro did to him minutes before. “I just really wanted to be the one to ask.”  He looks upward at Shiro as he unclenches his fist and looks downward.

His eyes go as wide as dish plates, and for that Keith is truly grateful.

“I wanted to do something nice for you. Guess I ruined it huh?”

“Nah,” Shiro shakes his head. “Upset, maybe. Or spoil. Or deflate. Not ruined,” his expression shifts slowly into a smile. First his mouth, then his eyes, and his stance.

Keith is enveloped by it. It’s magic.

Somewhere between gazing at the mountain with slack jaws, and taking  few halfhearted photos, Keith pushes Shiro’s ring down on his finger. Shiro does the same. Somehow he manages not to make a scene on the tram ride down.

* * *

 

“He might have been ugly crying,” Shiro looks at him sheepishly as if he’d said something inconsequential. “No I won’t marry you, but will you marry me?” Shiro cajoles him while slapping a hand across his shoulder.

He deserves this. All of this.

“Wait, Keith CRIED?” Martin says between wolfish bites of _his_ entrée. Whatever she ordered wasn’t enough and she’d moved on to poach his food.

Okay, he deserved Shiro roasting him in front of both of their families, but he didn’t deserve this. Not from Martin.

“This doesn’t surprise me.” Shiro’s mom cuts in tersely. “At home he was always talking to the cat at odd hours. “Shrio this. Shiro that.” Very emotional man.”

Really? Shiro’s quiet, reserved, _traditional_ mother was gonna start in on him too?

“Of course,” Lance cuts in, “All of this could have been avoided if Keith would’ve learned anything from years of my tutelage.”

He turns his head just in time to see Pidge snort red wine through her nose. Lovely.  However, he can’t say he disagrees with her response.

* * *

 

“Getting cold feet?”

“No,” it’s a simple answer. As bad as it looks to sneak out back at your own rehearsal dinner for a cigarette, it has little to do with Shiro. He can take being teased. You don’t last long with the McClains if you can’t. It’s the sheer number of people and the noise, and the fact that even though all of this is supposed to be for him and Shiro it’s really just for their parents.

And somehow he feels like he’s failing them miserably.

“Your sister ate my desert.” He feels Shiro’s biological arm rub lightly at his shoulder. Looking over he can see the silver ring he’d given him a few months ago.

Rosalind said they were supposed to wait to wear them for the wedding. If not, what was the point?

From the moment they’d met until now, they’d always been really bad at doing things the _proper_ way around.

“No sister of mine,” Keith turns to him and smiles. “I can disown them when it’s convenient.”

Shiro loosens his blue gray tie and sighs. “Let’s get out of here,” he says as he turns on his heel to loosen Keith’s tie as well.

Keith follows his gaze, and they both lock eyes on Peaches…Well at this rate she was more of a Peaches II given the configuration of old and new parts. Nevertheless, Keith loved the Yamaha, almost as much as he loved Shiro.

“You sure?” Can you just do that? Leave your own rehearsal? Rosalind would probably never let him hear the end of it. What else is new?

He was concerned about pissing off Mrs. Shirogane.

“Yeah,” Shiro says with a grin. He fishes the keys out of Keith’s jacket pocket and goes for the bike, starts it without Keith blinking an eye.

“We’re gonna see enough of them tomorrow right?”

For a moment images of the McClain women sobbing fill his mind. Lance sobbing. Endless fucking dancing. Lance dancing. Lance demanding to catch a bouquet even though there were none to be had.

Shiro had a point.

“Alright,” Keith climbs on the bike behind Shiro. Shiro doesn’t ask to drive often. He certainly isn’t in the habit of letting other men with Peaches…But the fact that it’s like his wedding night, or wedding night eve or something sappy like that makes him feel all sorts of sentimental and easy. Mushy in ways that he’d rather not be. “Take me down to the river.”

 


End file.
